


Real Homestuck Hours

by JollySilence



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aspect Bullshit, Lots of Fucking Blood, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 15:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollySilence/pseuds/JollySilence
Summary: Just a place for me to write some drabbles.





	Real Homestuck Hours

You can still feel the Rage pulsing through your veins as you pull back. Your eyes slamming shut with every impact. You wonder if this is what you really want. Why you’re doing this. If you can stop it. But it’s too late. The club is lifting. And descending. Lift. Descend. Lift. Descend. Lift. Descend. You yell out in anger, and fear and then you taste it. Something hits your tongue that briefly frees you. You can’t pinpoint the taste as a result of your pan being fried to hell and back. You just keep hitting.

And as you keep hitting the almost definitely lifeless corpse before you, you mull over the taste in your mouth. What is it? It reminds you of something, but you can’t figure it out no matter how hard you try. You feel some semblance of lucidity for a moment as you realise what the flavor is. But as soon as it comes, it’s gone. Lift. Descend. Lift. Descend.

At this point, the sound of the impact is nothing but squelching and the sounds of dusted bones. Another slam against the corpse and more of the unknown strange tasting substance hits your tongue. This time you’re keeping it. 

You grab ahold of it, holding it tight in your mind trying to unravel the web of thoughts streaming through your mind, trying oh so desperately to figure out what the hell is hitting your pan so damn hard.

And then like the impact of your clubs, you realise the flavor has been right there, coursing through your veins. 

Blood.

Your eyes snap open as you try and get the wisps out of your eyes. After rubbing your eyes dry, they adjust to the darkness and you can finally see what you’ve been hitting. She bares no resemblance to her former self, with her dress torn to shreds atop her lifeless corpse. Piercings strewn about the room, with clumps of hair covering your club from the impacts. And the Jade. So. Much. Jade. Everywhere. Your hands. Your clubs. Your suit. Your face. The walls, the ceiling, even the damn door.

Your name is Kurloz Makara.

And you have no idea what you just did.


End file.
